


August

by ottermo



Series: Fandot Creativity [8]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fandot Creativity, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: Fills from the August 2016 Fandot Creativity Night (#22). So far: Carolyn gets a phonecall, the "words of one sound" game makes a comeback, Douglas chats to a cow, hospital neighbours are far too chatty for Carolyn's liking, and then I tell Gordon off through poetry. It's all fun and games.





	1. Out of Tune

**Author's Note:**

> A poem to start...

 

For once, without incident, hiccup or cough,   
The glorified buskers were safely dropped off,  
And Carolyn breathed out a much relieved sigh -  
Having said, to her musical nemesis, “bye.”  
And all through the evening and all through the night  
The orchestra stayed out of mind and of sight,  
By morning the trip seemed a thing of the past   
But sadly, it wasn’t a feeling to last.  
It was quarter-to-six when the telephone rang.  
And Carolyn raced through the house as it sang,  
She picked it up. “MJN Air, can I help?”  
The sound on the end was a frustrated yelp.  
“It’s Madame Szyszko-Bohusz,” the voice said.   
And Carolyn groaned, pressed a hand to her head.   
“We’ve just been performing,” the lady proclaimed -  
A few Polish audience nobles were named -  
“But something’s not right with my precious bassoon -  
Your plane must have knocked it, it’s right out of tune!”  
And Carolyn tried to take up a calm tone….  
But failing to do so, just put down the phone.


	2. Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'words of one sound' game gets a new twist.

 

“All right. Nursery rhymes, rewritten in words of one sound.”

Martin groaned. “This again.”

“Whyever not. It’s a terrific game. I’ll start: Humpty Dumpty.” Douglas cleared his throat. “There once was a man like an egg, on a wall, and once the man shaped like an egg had a fall. The king sent some men, who rode in on their mares, but helped not the egg man: they just said ‘who cares’?”

“I’m not sure the original paints the king’s men as _heartless_ ,” Carolyn objected. “Just… ill-equipped to put him back together.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, earnestly, “And the poor horses. They must have felt silly even trying to help, with their hooves and everything.”

This produced chuckles from the others.

“Okay,” said Martin after a bit. “I’ll try Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

He paused.

“The floor awaits,” Douglas commented.

“I’m just trying to get it to rhyme,” Martin said.

“Never mind about that, he didn’t state it in the rules,” said Carolyn. “He was just showing off in his.”

“I’d like to make an addition to the rules…” Douglas began, but didn’t finish, just grinned at Carolyn’s rolled eyes.

“Shine and shine some more, small star,” Martin said, slowly. “I don’t know just what you are. Up a—”

Douglas raised his eyebrows at the sudden stop. “Hmm? Up a-what?”

“Well, not _that_ word,” Martin said emphatically. “Just hold on. Up a… Up a great height in the sky, like a… nice stone, way up high…”

“Brilliant, Skip,” Arthur punctuated.

“Shine and shine some more, small star - I don’t know just what you are!”

Martin’s smile was triumphant.

“Good save,” said Douglas approvingly. “Carolyn? Care to take on Supercallifrajalisticexpealidocious?”

She shook her head. “Funny as you are, I’m not sure that’s even a nursery rhyme. Anyway, I’ve got a better one. I’m not allowed to sing it at home any more, so…”

Douglas and Martin looked puzzled.

“Oh!” Arthur grinned, pleased to have worked it out before they had. “Baa Baa Black Sheep! Yeah, go on, mum!”

 


	3. BST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has actually been posted elsewhere as the first chapter of 'Tales from Fitton Farm', because it spawned one of my favourite AUs... but I'll also post it here for the sake of retrospective FCN completion. If you're gonna backdate, you might as well backdate, y'know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ThomasAlexanderMarshall, brilliant-tomato and the rest of the fandot chat for coming up with most of the details discussed herein - and clairedrawsairdraws, cow-namer extraordinaire.

 

“All right, Gerti, stand still,” Douglas murmured to the cow he would be milking, were she not too interested in side-stepping into the wall of the milking shed. “I know. I don’t know why we do it either. An hour’s too much of a change, isn’t it, girl?” Finally she settled, and he was able to attach the equipment. “And do you know, they blame it all on us? Mmm. They say we only change the time because of farmers - nobody bothers to find out the real reason…”

Arthur suddenly popped his head around the door. “Hi chaps!”

“Chap, singular,” Douglas corrected him. “Martin’s out in the top field. Did you want us both?”

“No,” said Arthur, coming in and stroking Gerti’s nose. “I just thought you must both be here, ‘cause I could hear you talking.”

“Oh,” Douglas said, breezily, “No, I was just chatting to Gerti. She’s not happy with the milking being an hour late.”

“Wow,” Arthur said, impressed. “Can she notice the difference? That’s really clever.”

“Well, I’m not saying she can tell the time, but she definitely knows it’s been a little longer than usual,” Douglas confirmed. “So I was just commiserating with her, because the rest of the country blames farms for the fact that we even _have_ BST, whereas actually….”

“They should blame golfers.”

Douglas was taken aback. “Oh.”

“You weren’t expecting me to know that, were you?”

“Not… Not exactly, no.”

Arthur put on his conspiratorial look. “I only know because I’m so involved with the golfing circles, you know.”

Douglas grinned, thinking of the row of crazy golf trophies that sat behind the ones Carolyn’s sheep had been winning in the Fitton Country Fair every year since 2010. “Of course.”

“William Willet,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “Which is quite a good name, really. You would think more people would have heard of him, with a name like that.” He shrugged. “But he just wanted an extra hour to play golf in. Which I could understand if it was _crazy_ golf, but an extra hour for normal golf? It seems a bit silly.”

Douglas chuckled. “I’m not used to you being such a fount of knowledge, Arthur, but I like the way you tell it.” He disconnected the milkers from Gerti’s udders, and she ambled away, replaced quickly by Elsie, the next of their nineteen cows.

“Well, I’d better carry on to the top field,” Arthur said brightly, as he stepped out of the way for Gerti to pass. “Martin will be wanting Snoop, and she’s bound to go off rabbiting if I send her on her own.”

“Oh, Snoopadoop, what’s he saying about you?” Douglas said in a mock-horrified tone, addressing the little cockerpoo/border collie cross, who had peeped her head around the cowshed door at the sound of her name, but dared not enter while the Big Scary Cows were about. It was quite enough to let them walk past her.

Douglas nodded to Arthur. “All right, see you later then. Oh, and tell Martin I thought of another one - Kevin _Bacon_.”

Arthur repeated the name a couple of times so he wouldn’t forget it on the way over. He couldn’t always join in the word games, but definitely enjoyed his position as courier, on days where Martin and Douglas weren’t working in earshot of each other.

He gambolled off with Snoopadoop at his heels, and Douglas turned to Elsie.

“Sorry, old thing,” he said to her amiably. “It’s all William Willet’s fault, you see…”

 


	4. Due Date

 

To Carolyn’s slight horror, the woman in the bed next to her happens to be… _friendly_.

“She’s nothing like her brothers, this one. Both of them came right on their due dates, like clockwork, but Madam? No such luck. I’m having to be induced as well.” She smiles across at Carolyn. “My sister says it’s nothing to worry about, though, dear.”

Carolyn nods politely. She’s not worried - bored, yes, but not worried. She’d rather the whole thing was over with, and Baby out in the world, distracting Father from the business troubles that grip his company and maybe even turning them all into some semblance of a family.

Not that she’d decided to keep the child because she’d seriously thought happy families was on the cards. Gordon doesn’t strike her as the sort of man who’ll relish being a father - and she wonders at the fact that she is still thinking of him as a man who strikes her in a particular way, rather than somebody she knows deeply and well, after three years of marriage.

But she can hardly think of all that now.

“So what do you think you’re having, a little girl, or a little boy?” her neighbour asks, managing in her sweet voice to sound interested, not nosy, which only aggravates Carolyn more. People ought to at least be honest about their nosiness.

“No idea,” Carolyn replies, trying not to sound too gruff, but really, she’s not convinced by any woman who claims to know the child’s sex before they’re born. Ruth had painted everything pink, she recalls, and then only allowed black and white photography of Brian until they’d had time to redecorate… As if the colours meant anything, and as if a baby would know, even if they did…

“I just have a feeling about this one, she’s different to my boys,” says the other woman conversationally. “So I’ve been “she-ing” all over the place, but I’ll happily eat my words if it’s a he. Are you-“

She’s interrupted by the sound of the door to the maternity ward opening, and a man enters almost shyly, glancing around for someone in particular. He’s flanked by a plump boy of about six, and a much thinner child, who can’t be older than three, and who clings to his father’s legs.

“Michael! Over here, dear.” Carolyn’s neighbour calls softly, and Carolyn wonders if she’ll trick them into visiting quietly if she closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep.

“Wendy,” the man says, smiling in relief as he approaches. He bends to kiss her on the cheek. “Thought I was in the wrong room. Everything all right?”

His voice is soft, but Carolyn decides to try the closed eyes just in case.

“Fine. Come and give mummy a kiss, Simon.” Carolyn hears the sound of what must be the older boy obeying her request, and she hears Wendy chuckle. “Are you shy, Martin? Let go of daddy’s trousers. That’s it. There’s nothing to be shy of.”

Carolyn doesn’t see whether or not the little boy obeys, but she feels her own baby kick out a drumbeat of encouragement that Martin won’t hear for twenty-eight years.

 


	5. Right-Hand Man/Light Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I do hate Gordon Shappey, don't you?

 

You call your son your right-hand man,   
And seat him by your side,  
You watch his eyes light up at that -   
Excitement. Hope, and pride.   
The plane lifts off the surly ground,   
And rides the skies with ease.  
Your son is full of questions,  
And of eagerness to please.   
In years to come, you’ll think of this:  
A single effort made.   
You’ll think it’s proof you did your bit,  
And proof of love displayed.   
I’ll let you in this secret:  
He remembers that day too.   
He thinks he should be grateful  
And he’s just as wrong as you.

 


End file.
